The sun fills my studio with warm yellow haze. It reminds me of summer noises.

We spent summer weekends at my grandparents' house out in the rural end of Indiana. My brother and I would run wild through the days like coyote pups sniffing grass and digging in the dirt. We'd be let out right after breakfast, answer the call home to lunch on tomato and mayonnaise sandwiches and bound out the kitchen door to get lost again until dinnertime.

The sounds of the night were crickets and treefrogs and sometimes on Fridays, a warm raspy breath in my ear.